The Paris Sketch Book: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

FOUR IMITATIONS OF B�RANGER

LE ROI D'YVETOT.

Il �tait un roi d'Yvetot,
  Peu connu dans l'histoire;
Se levant tard, se couchant t�t,
  Dormant fort bien sans gloire,
Et couronn� par Jeanneton
D'un simple bonnet de coton,
             Dit-on.
    Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah!
    Quel bon petit roi c'�tait l�!
             La, la.
Il fesait ses quatre repas
  Dans son palais de chaume,
Et sur un �ne, pas � pas,
  Parcourait son royaume.
Joyeux, simple et croyant le bien,
Pour toute garde il n'avait rien
             Qu'un chien.
    Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c.  
             La, la.
Il n'avait de go�t on�reux 
  Qu'une soif un peu vive;
Mais, en rendant son peuple heureux,
  Il faux bien qu'un roi vive.
Lui-m�me � table, et sans supp�t,
Sur chaque muid levait un pot
             D'imp�t.
    Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c.  
             La, la.
Aux filles de bonnes maisons 
  Comme il avait su plaire,
Ses sujets avaient cent raisons
  De le nommer leur p�re:
D'ailleurs il ne levait de ban
Que pour tirer quatre fois l'an
             Au blanc.
    Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c.  
             La, la.
Il n'agrandit point ses �tats, 
  Fut un voisin commode,
Et, mod�le des potentats,
  Prit le plaisir pour code.
Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira,
Que le peuple qui l'enterra
             Pleura.
    Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c.  
             La, la.
On conserve encor le portrait
  De ce digne et bon prince;
C'est l'enseigne d'un cabaret
  Fameux dans la province.
Les jours de f�te, bien souvent, 
La foule s'�crie en buvant
             Devant:
    Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! 
    Quel bon petit roi c'�tait l�!
             La, la.

THE KING OF YVETOT.

There was a king of Yvetot,
  Of whom renown hath little said, 
Who let all thoughts of glory go,
  And dawdled half his days a-bed; 
And every night, as night came round, 
By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned,
            Slept very sound:
     Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! 
     That's the kind of king for me.
And every day it came to pass, 
  That four lusty meals made he;
And, step by step, upon an ass, 
  Rode abroad, his realms to see;
And wherever he did stir, 
What think you was his escort, sir?
            Why, an old cur.
     Sing ho, ho, ho! &c.
If e'er he went into excess, 
  'Twas from a somewhat lively thirst;
But he who would his subjects bless, 
  Odd's fish!--must wet his whistle first;
And so from every cask they got, 
Our king did to himself allot,
            At least a pot.
     Sing ho, ho! &c.
To all the ladies of the land,
  A courteous king, and kind, was he; 
The reason why you'll understand,
  They named him Pater Patriae. 
Each year he called his fighting men, 
And marched a league from home, and then
            Marched back again.
     Sing ho, ho! &c.
Neither by force nor false pretence, 
  He sought to make his kingdom great,
And made (O princes, learn from hence),--
  "Live and let live," his rule of state.
'Twas only when he came to die, 
That his people who stood by,
            Were known to cry.
     Sing ho, ho! &c.
The portrait of this best of kings 
  Is extant still, upon a sign
That on a village tavern swings, 
  Famed in the country for good wine.
The people in their Sunday trim, 
Filling their glasses to the brim,
            Look up to him,
     Singing ha, ha, ha! and he, he, he!
     That's the sort of king for me.

THE KING OF BRENTFORD.

ANOTHER VERSION.

There was a king in Brentford,--of whom no legends tell,
But who, without his glory,--could eat and sleep right well.
His Polly's cotton nightcap,--it was his crown of state,
He slept of evenings early,--and rose of mornings late.
All in a fine mud palace,--each day he took four meals,
And for a guard of honor,--a dog ran at his heels,
Sometimes, to view his kingdoms,--rode forth this monarch good,
And then a prancing jackass--he royally bestrode.
There were no costly habits--with which this king was curst,
Except (and where's the harm on't?)--a somewhat lively thirst;
But people must pay taxes,--and kings must have their sport,
So out of every gallon--His Grace he took a quart.
He pleased the ladies round him,--with manners soft and bland;
With reason good, they named him,--the father of his land.
Each year his mighty armies--marched forth in gallant show;
Their enemies were targets--their bullets they were tow.
He vexed no quiet neighbor,--no useless conquest made,
But by the laws of pleasure,--his peaceful realm he swayed.
And in the years he reigned,--through all this country wide,
There was no cause for weeping,--save when the good man died.
The faithful men of Brentford,--do still their king deplore,
His portrait yet is swinging,--beside an alehouse door.
And topers, tender-hearted,--regard his honest phiz,
And envy times departed--that knew a reign like his.

LE GRENIER.

Je viens revoir l'asile o� ma jeunesse
De la mis�re a subi les le�ons.
J'avais vingt ans, une folle ma�tresse,
De francs amis et l'amour des chansons
Bravant le monde et les sots et les sages,
Sans avenir, riche de mon printemps,
Leste et joyeux je montais six �tages.
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien � vingt ans!
C'est un grenier, point ne veux qu'on l'ignore.
L� fut mon lit, bien ch�tif et bien dur;
L� fut ma table; et je retrouve encore
Trois pieds d'un vers charbonn�s sur le mur.
Apparaissez, plaisirs de mon bel �ge,
Que d'un coup d'aile a fustig�s le temps,
Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage.
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien � vingt ans!
Lisette ici doit surtout appara�tre,
Vive, jolie, avec un frais chapeau;
D�j� sa main � l'�troite fen�tre
Suspend son schal, en guise de rideau.
Sa robe aussi va parer ma couchette;
Respecte, Amour, ses plis longs et flottans.
J'ai su depuis qui payait sa toilette.
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien � vingt ans!
A table un jour, jour de grande richesse,
De mes amis les voix brillaient en choeur,
Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'all�gresse:
A Marengo Bonaparte est vainqueur.
Le canon gronde; un autre chant commence;
Nous c�l�brons tant de faits �clatans.
Les rois jamais n'envahiront la France.
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien � vingt ans!
Quittons ce toit o� ma raison s'enivre.
Oh! qu'ils sont loin ces jours si regrett�s!
J'�changerais ce qu'il me reste � vivre
Contre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a compt�s,
Pour r�ver gloire, amour, plaisir, folie,
Pour d�penser sa vie en peu d'instans,
D'un long espoir pour la voir embellie,
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien � vingt ans!

THE GARRET.

With pensive eyes the little room I view,
  Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long;
With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two,
  And a light heart still breaking into song:
Making a mock of life, and all its cares, 
  Rich in the glory of my rising sun,
Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, 
  In the brave days when I was twenty-one.
 
Yes; 'tis a garret--let him know't who will--
  There was my bed--full hard it was and small.
My table there--and I decipher still 
  Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall.
Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away,
  Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun;
For you I pawned my watch how many a day,
  In the brave days when I was twenty-one.
And see my little Jessy, first of all;
  She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes:
Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl
  Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise;
Now by the bed her petticoat glides down,
  And when did woman look the worse in none?
I have heard since who paid for many a gown,
  In the brave days when I was twenty-one.
One jolly evening, when my friends and I
  Made happy music with our songs and cheers,
A shout of triumph mounted up thus high,
  And distant cannon opened on our ears:
We rise,--we join in the triumphant strain,--
  Napoleon conquers--Austerlitz is won-- 
Tyrants shall never tread us down again,
  In the brave days when I was twenty-one.
Let us begone--the place is sad and strange--
  How far, far off, these happy times appear;
All that I have to live I'd gladly change
  For one such month as I have wasted here--
To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power,
  From founts of hope that never will outrun,
And drink all life's quintessence in an hour,
  Give me the days when I was twenty-one!

ROGER-BONTEMPS.

Aux gens atrabilaires
Pour exemple donn�,
En un temps de mis�res
Roger-Bontemps est n�.
Vivre obscur � sa guise,
Narguer les m�contens:
Eh gai! c'est la devise
Du gros Roger-Bontemps.
Du chapeau de son p�re
Co�ff� dans le grands jours,
De roses ou de lierre
Le rajeunir toujours;
Mettre un manteau de bure,
Vieil ami de vingt ans;
Eh gai! c'est la parure
Du gros Roger-Bontemps.
Poss�der dans sa hutte
Une table, un vieux lit,
Des cartes, une fl�te,
Un broc que Dieu remplit;
Un portrait de ma�tresse,
Un coffre et rien dedans;
Eh gai! c'est la richesse
Du gros Roger-Bontemps.
Aux enfans de la ville
Montrer de petits jeux;
Etre fesseur habile
De contes graveleux;
Ne parler que de danse
Et d'almanachs chantans;
Eh gai! c'est la science
Du gros Roger-Bontemps.
Faute de vins d'�lite,
Sabler ceux du canton:
Pr�f�rer Marguerite
Aux dames du grand ton:
De joie et de tendresse
Remplir tous ses instans;
Eh gai! c'est la sagesse
Du gros Roger-Bontemps.
Dire au ciel: Je me fie,
Mon p�re, � ta bont�;
De ma philosophie
Pardonne le ga�t�
Que ma saison derni�re
Soit encore un printemps;
Eh gai! c'est la pri�re
Du gros Roger-Bontemps.
Vous, pauvres pleins d'envie,
Vous, riches d�sireux,
Vous, dont le char d�vie
Apr�s un cours heureux;
Vous, qui perdrez peut-�tre
Des titres �clatans,
Eh gai! prenez pour ma�tre
Le gros Roger Bontemps.

JOLLY JACK.

When fierce political debate 
  Throughout the isle was storming,
And Rads attacked the throne and state,
  And Tories the reforming, 
To calm the furious rage of each,
  And right the land demented, 
Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach
 The way to be contented.
Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft,
  His chair, a three-legged stool; 
His broken jug was emptied oft,
  Yet, somehow, always full. 
His mistress' portrait decked the wall,
  His mirror had a crack;
Yet, gay and glad, though this was all 
  His wealth, lived Jolly Jack.
To give advice to avarice,
  Teach pride its mean condition, 
And preach good sense to dull pretence,
  Was honest Jack's high mission. 
Our simple statesman found his rule
  Of moral in the flagon,
And held his philosophic school 
  Beneath the "George and Dragon."
When village Solons cursed the Lords, 
  And called the malt-tax sinful,
Jack heeded not their angry words, 
  But smiled and drank his skinful.
And when men wasted health and life, 
  In search of rank and riches,
Jack marked, aloof, the paltry strife, 
  And wore his threadbare breeches.
"I enter not the church," he said, 
  But I'll not seek to rob it;"
So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, 
  While others studied Cobbett.
His talk it was of feast and fun; 
  His guide the Almanack;
From youth to age thus gayly run 
  The life of Jolly Jack.
And when Jack prayed, as oft he would,
  He humbly thanked his Maker; 
"I am," said he, "O Father good!
  Nor Catholic nor Quaker:
Give each his creed, let each proclaim 
  His catalogue of curses;
I trust in Thee, and not in them, 
  In Thee, and in Thy mercies!
"Forgive me if, midst all Thy works, 
  No hint I see of damning;
And think there's faith among the Turks,
  And hope for e'en the Brahmin. 
Harmless my mind is, and my mirth,
  And kindly is my laughter:
I cannot see the smiling earth, 
  And think there's hell hereafter."
Jack died; he left no legacy, 
  Save that his story teaches:--
Content to peevish poverty; 
  Humility to riches.
Ye scornful great, ye envious small, 
  Come follow in his track;
We all were happier, if we all 
  Would copy JOLLY JACK.

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